


The Better Part of Valour

by Argyle



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Drunkenness, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, one-upmanship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-21
Updated: 2011-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't that it was a struggle to keep up with this guy. Erik was just out of practice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Better Part of Valour

"Another round, George," Erik ordered, a little softer than he meant. But then, his mouth was still busy draining the dregs of his last mug.

"You're slowing down," said Thor. _Thor_. Even the thought felt ridiculous.

But still Erik protested, "I've only just begun."

It wasn't that it was a struggle to keep up with this guy, this _boy_. Erik was just out of practice. He remembered exactly when he'd last got utterly smashed -- John Foster's funeral -- just as he remembered exactly how he'd regretted it the, oh, two days afterwards. But for John, it was justified.

Erik hadn't the foggiest idea why he'd now allow himself to revisit that particular state of being. Sure, he'd gone head-to-head with no less than a dozen federal agents in order to free a madman from a government facility. He lied to them like it meant nothing. And maybe it didn't: it was after all those same agents who stole years' worth of his and Jane's accumulated data, most of it likely irreplaceable. Erik couldn't face returning to Jane empty-handed, so where he didn't get their instruments back, he at least brought _him_.

Okay. So what. So this lughead wanted to be called Thor. It wasn't the oddest thing Erik ever encountered. He'd over the years met what seemed like half the Greek pantheon at parties in Santa Fe, not to mention a Xerxes or two, and none of those snobs actually looked the part.

Thor on the other hand-- Well. Erik was no more a saint than Thor was a god, which left them both as nothing if not men.

Jane saw something in Thor. Erik saw something too.

Erik eyed the way Thor's hand moved to lift his full mug, long fingers curling round the entire breadth as if they were made for it. He was on his, what, seventh? Erik was fairly sure he'd only himself downed six since whenever it was they'd sat down, which was a problem only insofar as his grasp of time had totally flown out the window. Erik's sense of place and purpose usually held out much longer.

But just to make sure, he said, "Don't think your lead will last, my friend."

Thor smiled, his eyes flickering with wry intelligence. "Hurry up then! I've known chambermaids who looked less green after a great deal more ale."

Six turned into seven. Erik leaned a little closer into Thor's side, but only because the place was getting loud. He had half a mind to ask Thor if he wanted to go outside for some air, but that would mean standing, or in fact acknowledging that his arse wasn't as good as fused to his bar stool.

"It's only this swill," said Erik. He shook his head apologetically. "What I wouldn't do for a horn of Ringnes. Ringnes like it used to be, you know, before the bleeding _Danes_ got hold of it."

"I can see you're used to making excuses."

"What?"

"Do not worry," Thor sighed. Damn him, but he almost sounded forlorn. "You're in good company."

Erik thumbed a path through the condensation on his glass. He knew he should probably balk at that: Thor didn't know anything about him. Thor was just some poor, delusional sod they ran over in the middle of the desert, and clearly not the sort to whom Erik was used to baring his soul.

Of course it meant nothing. Never mind that Erik had once counted himself among Caltech's top physicists. Such things were precarious. The road that lead from there to here -- the here where he owned an old Winnebago and some DIY equipment and a life comprised of endless hours spent hoofing it through scrub-country -- was swift. That Jane should take him on as a research advisor, prompting UNM to add him to their payroll, seemed blessing enough. At least it ensured regular exercise and cereal in the cupboard. And this: the chance to get drunk in a roadhouse with a near-stranger.

Maybe a little competition was good for the spirit.

Maybe it'd be enough to draw his mind away from wondering what Thor's hands would feel like on his bare skin. (They would probably fit round Erik's arms like they were made for that too.)

After a while, Erik stopped trying to count how many rounds he'd got through. The only thing that mattered was that he finished his drink when Thor did, but only so they could at once order another.

Erik was softly aware that his thigh was aligned with Thor's. He could feel the heat of the other man through two layers of trousers -- this alone was enough to keep Erik close, even when he wasn't trying to be heard. Thor heard him regardless.

"Grown men don't simply fall out of the sky. What are you doing here, really?" Erik asked, chidingly.

Thor arched a brow. Evasive, always. "I've explained this."

"Your father disowned you. Your brother failed you, and laughed all the while. Your friends stayed behind. Am I missing anything? It seems familiar enough."

"Not to me."

Erik sipped his beer, then said, "I know how these things begin. How one might lose everything." He raised a hand to Thor's shoulder, for a moment meaning to placate or encourage. But quite of its own will, his grip tightened and his thumb dragged over the thin collar of Thor's t-shirt. Thor met his eye. "But I am afraid I don't know how they end."

"As they must," said Thor. "With or without Mjolnir, there is only one ending, and that is victory."

For another minute, Erik sat considering this -- it seemed true enough. Perverse and overly dramatic, but honest.

Yes, Erik could almost taste Thor's meaning. And below the standard scent of spilled beer and bartop polish, he could make out the scent of Thor himself: green things grown up through the cold breeze, dust, and sweat, almost sweet, though that was hardly surprising: from what Erik gleaned from Coulson, Thor put up a hell of a fight. But why? Thor couldn't really believe half of what he said. And yet some quiet, still part of Erik wanted to believe all of it.

Erik felt his cheeks flush.

Christ, but he really was a bit shitfaced.

Shaking himself, he used Thor's shoulder as leverage to get himself to the floor. Thor shot him a bemused grin, to which Erik offered a grimace. "Men's room," he explained without needing to. He locked the door behind him.

But a few splashes of water to his face left him cognisant enough to see that he was half-hard.

"Oh, very funny," Erik mumbled. The last thing he needed was to go doe-eyed for an unobtainable: a man half his age and twice as broad -- as a rule, men like Thor didn't go for men like Erik -- but as far as needs went, it wasn't the sorriest he ever had, nor the least he'd ever expected of himself.

But so full of beer, he'd never even be able to finish himself off; it only served as a reminder of his own folly.

After another minute spent schooling his breath and leaning against the sink, his hands braced on the cold porcelain to either side of him, he used the toilet, then straightened his clothes in the mirror, pulled his jacket closed, and stepped back into the bar.

For a moment, he thought he might play something from the jukebox. Led Zeppelin, or maybe Cream. But then he caught sight of Thor, still seated at the bar where Erik left him, but now flanked on either side by a couple of underage-looking women. Thor gestured widely, teeth bared in a wicked smile, and the women nodded and laughed along with him.

When Erik approached, they each spared him a quick glance, but little else. Attempting to ignore the pang of what no doubt was just indigestion working its way through his guts, he pressed, "Is everything all right?"

"Thor was telling us about his time in Jotunheim," one of the women sing-songed.

"Oh?" Erik said, reclaiming his stool. He knew he'd best stop Thor before he said anything incriminating-- then Erik caught himself. Incriminating? Thor's very presence was that, and more. And Erik was hardly an expert at keeping his cards to his vest. Under his breath, he murmured, "And here I thought he spent all his time talking about his hammer."

Thor heard him. Of course he did. He set his mug down with a thump. "I had not reached that part yet," he told Erik. And then, "Ladies, it has been a pleasure. Perhaps we will continue this discussion another night, but now I must return to a prior engagement. You see, I must observe this man drink himself into a stupor."

So that's how it would be. Erik felt the hair at the back of his neck prickle. But soon enough, the women wandered off, leaving Erik to offer, "Another?"

"You need to ask?"

"And I suppose you don't have your wallet with you?"

"When the time comes, all will be repaid."

Erik sniffed. But just the same, he tossed out a tenner and caught the bartender's eye, two fingers raised. If he couldn't have Thor's respect, at least he would have his dignity. Friendship be damned. The battle was on.


End file.
